


In The Backstreets of Amsterdam

by Soha_Friend



Category: Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Amsterdam, Gen, One Shot, why am i so bad summeries?!?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soha_Friend/pseuds/Soha_Friend
Summary: Tomas walked through the damp, night street of Amsterdam, dark thoughts filling him with despair.





	In The Backstreets of Amsterdam

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting a couple of random one-shots for a while, as I don't have the time to write anything major. Plus I have a couple of works I have done for school, that I would like to share.
> 
> This was a geography assignment (the teacher refused to give me Czech Republic, so I had to write this) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy ;)

 

_**These lonely nights I lay awake,** _

_**Pray to the lord, my soul to take,** _

_**My heart became too cold to break.** _

 

Netherlands... A country of beautiful architecture. Interested tourists, snapping pictures of the buildings, chatting happily, laughing and smiling. A country of rivers and endless streets. Cafes, steps and museums, children and adults, boats and buses. Bicycles dashing in the traffic. The rush of Amsterdam, the silent peace Assen...

But it's very different, when you came there to take a life.

All he saw was bodies of water, obstacles to overcome. Potential witnesses, smiles that could be stolen, lives that could be taken. A forever lasting ribbon of streets, just another thing in his way. People... Drunk. But mostly on drugs: hush, marijuana. He mocked their patheticness, soundlessly laughing to himself. Those fools thought they were hopeless! Ones that have never faced anything even close to hopelessness.

Tomas walked through the damp, night street. Smoking a cigarette he stole from an old lady in the bus. She would not miss it. The cold was creeping up his arms. Who thought to make assassin attire sleevless? It was similar to the cold his cryokenetic friend could generate, but in way Kuai's frost was much more... Warm? How he wished Kuai was there with him! To share the "moment" of the wet concrete of Amsterdam. To help him escape the dark thoughts creeping through his mind.

He blew his long silver strand of hair out of his face, huffing out smoke as he did so. Tonight he must kill a person. An innocent. The one who has just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. But a contract is just that, nothing personal. Or at least the clan made him think so. He glanced around taking in the music and colors descending from the clubs, having a glance at the life he shall never have. It was unfair... Lin Kuei was a fierce Chinese clan he has spent all his life in and grew to call a home. But now being on the European Land, so close to the country the Czech originated from, he felt his roots kick in.

Suddenly he felt crushed by the thought that he would never be able to see museums. To ride bicycles or laugh. Laugh! Tomas kicked a puddle of water, making the water splash onto his clothes. He would never be able to take shots with friends, to do Marihuana or Hush. Could someone please, please teach him how to ride a boat, so he could travel through the cities of Netherlands? Or simply see the life for what it was, not the pitch dark of the back streets, but the shine of the central Amsterdam!

The clubs silenced in the distance as he took another step into the labyrinth of darkness. A small house stood lonely atop a hill. The assassin came closer inspecting that the address fit the one on his contract. The wind howled sending shivers down his spine. All he had to see where the dark backstreets, all the other things did not matter.

Netherlands did not matter.

Not to him.

Not anymore.

_**And I spilled someone's blood,** _

_**I broke someone's heart...** _

_**...again.** _


End file.
